Down on the Farm
by jarec
Summary: Clark invites Bruce to the farm for thanksgiving dinner. THIS IS NOT SLASH! Final Chapter: We descend into Songfic.
1. Chapter 1

On the surface, it would be hard to think of two people less likely to be friends than Superman and Batman. The Metropolis Marvel is known for being cheerful, optimistic, open and friendly while the Dark Knight is renowned for being broody, dark, secretive and hostile. Superman is quite possibly the most famous and recognizable man on the planet, while Batman is largely regarded as an urban legend. Despite these differences, the two have forged an enduring friendship.

When they first met, both heroes privately vowed to stay in touch with one another, not for reasons of friendship but of wariness. Superman saw in Batman someone haunted by his demons, living on the ragged edge of sanity- and became determined to watch him in case he went over that edge. He could only imagine the havoc a psychotic Batman could wreak. For his part, Batman saw Superman as a nearly unstoppable alien force, whose power was constrained not by the law but by his own code- and vowed to watch him in case he needed to be stopped. Both masked their suspicions in friendliness, and professions of mutual respect.

Surprisingly, neither suspected the other of duplicity. Clark believed that Batman would never waste time pretending to be friendly, and the Dark Knight didn't believe Superman to be capable of that level of acting. It helped, of course, that both men believed they could detect lies perfectly. So it was that whenever Clark was in Gotham, he and Bruce would go for dinner. Conversely whenever Batman had a case in Metropolis, the two would have coffee on a rooftop. They collaborated on many cases, with an astounding success, which prompted many in the Super-Community to label them as The World's Finest. They formed a winning combination of power, intelligence, lateral thinking, and a vast array of contacts.

Over time, however, their relationship changed. It became natural for Clark to vent his frustration with Lois ("I'm the Other Man in our relationship! It's unbelievable!") to Bruce, or for Batman to grumble about the way he was forced to behave as Bruce Wayne ("Sometimes I feel like punching MYSELF square in the face"). Clark always made it a point to visit Gotham at least once during January, the month of Thomas and Martha's deaths, and to give what comfort the dark vigilante could accept. Batman grudgingly gave tips on dealing with women, gleaned from years of careful observation of the Playboy Set. Gradually, their friendship became less and less of an act, and more something both men came to depend upon. Of course, neither recognized this- until Thanksgiving of one year.

* * *

"…so what do you say?" Clark said. He was using the handset of his phone and as he spoke, he tidied up his small apartment.

"I'm sorry" Bruce said- and it WAS Bruce speaking, not Batman. The tone was light and airy, and completely devoid of intelligence. Clark inferred from this that his friend was in public "I must have a bad connection. Could you repeat that, Clark?"

"I said that my family is having a big Thanksgiving dinner at the farm this year, and I wanted to know if you'd like to come. Ma's already cooking extra for Lois, so there'll be plenty to go around" Clark said, picking up an old pizza box from the floor. He sniffed it, made a face, and incinerated it with his heat vision.

"I see. Clark, you DO realize I'm a multi-billionaire who lives with a world-class chef, right? Not a guy in a two room apartment looking forward to a Turkey TV Dinner?"

"Yeah, but…" Now Clark paused, unsure why he was even asking. He knew Batman would probably have a better meal at his manor than anything Ma Kent could produce. Nor was he likely to be lonely- quite apart from the many members of the BatClan who would no doubt be in attendance, Batman wasn't the type to ever be lonely. "I…guess I just thought you might want to, I don't know, try a real old-fashioned family dinner."

"…" At the other end of the line, Bruce Wayne was silent. He was seated at his private table in Gotham's exclusive Sky Lounge, waiting for the evenings bimbo to make her appearance. Clark's call seemingly came out of nowhere, and his first impulse was to reject the invitation. He would politely (but firmly) tell the boyscout that he had other plans.

Except…he DIDN'T really have other plans. With Dick away at college now, and Barbara with her father, it would just be him and Alfred in the manor for thanksgiving. Once, that wouldn't have bothered him in the slightest, but in the last few years he'd gotten used to having company for the holidays. Annoying though he could sometimes be, Batman had to acknowledge that for the most part the Man Of Steel was tolerable company. More than that, he couldn't actually remember Thanksgiving with his parents- and he wondered what it was like. "You know what Clark? I think I'll take you up on that."

"…What?" Clark paused in the act of bending over to retrieve an errant sock, positive that he'd misheard.

"I said I'll be there. Can you meet us at the airport in Kansas City?" Bruce said as his date (a bottle blonde with too much perfume and not enough clothing) walked into the room. As he tried to remember her name (Greta? Gretchen? All the airheads started to look alike) he waved her over.

"Uh…yeah…yeah that-that'll do fine" The most powerful man in the world stammered. "Two o'clock. Uh, will Alfred be coming?"

"Well, I can't leave him all alone. I'll see you then. Bye." He hung up, and turned to his date "So, Greta, right?"

Clark hung up, his eyes fixed on the far wall. What had he just done?

* * *

"..And that's the story, Alfred. I hope it's not a problem." Batman said, tightening his cape in preparation for the night's patrol. He didn't expect any significant troubles- all the major Rogues were locked away in Arkham at the moment, and lesser criminals seemed to be taking a break. He liked it when there was a lull in Gotham, it made him feel like he could actually win his war on crime.

"Not at all, Master Bruce. " Alfred's tone revealed nothing but pleased surprise, and Batman smirked a little. No matter what his butler thought, NO ONE knew everything about Batman. "I will admit it's a tad unexpected for you to go to dinner with a friend, but I am nevertheless pleased that you actually have one."

Now the Dark Knight frowned. "He's not a friend Alfred, he's a danger. If Superman ever goes rogue, the entire world would be in grave danger. It's easier for me to keep tabs on him under a façade of friendship, so that is what I do. My reasons are logical and purely professional. I don't have time for friends outside our family"

"I see sir" Alfred said, raising an eyebrow "Then I assume you have some reason to keep especially close watch on him this Tanksgiving? Undoubtably, he intends to enact some nefarious plot for global domination. One involving turkey, gravy, and an herb-garlic stuffing, I've no doubt."

Batman turned to glare at his oldest friend. "I'll be back late. Don't wait up."

"Certainly not, sir. Oh and sir?"

"Yes, Alfred?" The Caped Crusader turned to look back at his butler. He was surprised to see a fearsome glare on the older man's face.

"Master Kent has spoken to me at length of his parents. Not only is he extremely fond and protective of them, but I understand them to be good and decent people. You will behave in an appropriate and friendly manner while we are there, without resorting to the Fop persona,. If you do not, I daresay you will discover that you are not to big to be put over my knee. Is this understood, Master Bruce?"

Suddenly Batman understood how the criminals felt when he interrogated them. "Crystal, Alfred"

"Very good, sir." The Englishman's voice was once again cool and friendly, and he resumed dusting the Batcomputer.

A/N  
I know I should get to work on Suburban Fun and Games, but this idea seemed too good to pass up. Next time: Bruce on the Farm! The Friendly Folk of the Heartland! Lois is banned from the Kitchen!


	2. Chapter 2

"Honestly, son, calm down! You act like this Wayne fellow is the most important guy on the planet!" Jonathan Kent told his son. They were in the Kent's pickup truck, driving to the city airport to meet the mysterious Gotham billionaire. Unfortunately, they had taken a wrong turn somewhere outside of Smallville, and while they were now on the right course it had put Clark into a tizzy. "If he's the friend you say he is, he'll understand you being a few minutes late. Besides, it's a long flight from Gotham to Kansas City- maybe he needed a little downtime to stretch his legs"

Clark mentally pictured Bruce Wayne standing in the airport, scowling at his watch as he waited for the man who should have met him at the gate. He swallowed; Batman could be abrasive at the best of times. Left to wait in a (relatively) busy mid-western airport… "Pa, are you SURE this truck can't go any faster?"

The elder Kent sighed. His son was the strongest being on the planet and the idol of millions, yet he still had a tendency to worry too much- probably got it from Martha. "For the third time, Clark, this is as fast as it goes. Unless of course you want to fly us there, in broad daylight and without your costume, then we'll be there in a twenty minutes or so."

Clark grinned at his father, a little sheepishly. Pa was right, of course; they were going as fast as they could. Bruce would just have to wait- besides, Alfred would keep him under control.

"Sir, I do wish you would stop checking that watch. It isn't proper to be that concerned over the time." Alfred said, as he sat in the airport lounge. It wasn't much of a lounge, at least not by Bruce Wayne's standards- a few leather chairs, a selection of magazines, and a television stuck on one channel. Nevertheless, Alfred did his best to relax- he'd found a reasonably comfortable chair and had the Theater section of the Kansas City Star open in front of him.

"Alfred, they're a half hour late. That's not like Clark at all- what if something has happened?" Even as he said it, Bruce regretted the last sentence. Alfred knew that Clark Kent was the Man of Steel- what could possibly happen to him? The only things that qualified were major disasters, and such would almost certainly be newsworthy enough to interrupt the Andy Griffith reruns currently showing on the TV.

To his credit, the butler did nothing but raise an eyebrow and return to his paper. Bruce cleared his throat and tried to resume his fidgeting. He'd rarely had to deal with long waits in his Bruce Wayne persona- and a billionaire playboy couldn't be expected to show the incredible patience of Batman. So, in order to keep up appearances, he had taken to tapping his fingers, pacing, whistling and other normally unconscious signs of impatience. However, for him these actions were completely conscious and precisely calculated, and added substantially to his annoyance.

Finally, Clark arrived with an elderly man Bruce presumed to be the senior mister Kent. The man wore a battered suede jacket and blue jeans which- Bruce suspected- were actually overalls. Clark walked over to Bruce, clearly trying to appear nonchalant, but moving a little too quickly to pull it off. Extending his hand to the billionaire, he said "Bruce! I'm sorry we're so late! We got turned around in the weather, and well…"

"No problem at all, Clark. The time just flew by, didn't it Alfred?" Bruce took the other man's hand and squeezed as hard as he could. This would normally have broken bones, but for Superman it simply conveyed a message. 'You were thirty seven minutes late' the grip said 'I'll forgive it this time but don't let it happen again'

"Indeed, sir. I would never have guessed how long we were here, had it not been for you checking your watch every five seconds." The butler said, completely deadpan. This startled a laugh out of Pa Kent, and got a grimace from Bruce.

"Hello, mister Wayne, mister Pennyworth." Jonathan said. "It's nice to finally meet Clark's friends."

"Friends?" Bruce said, shooting Clark a surreptitious glare. "Who else is here?"

The Last Son of Krypton gulped "W-well, I told you Lois was coming, right? Then, we found out that Jimmy- Jimmy Olsen, from the Planet?- that he had nowhere to be for the holidays. He's sort of estranged from his folks, and well, no one should be alone on Thanksgiving, right? So, I thought…"

"I see" Bruce said, in a tone that revealed nothing. When he saw that Mr. Kent was occupied with searching for the baggage, he spoke again- so quietly that only Kryptonian hearing could make out his words. "You invited that nosy coffee boy you hang around with? To your parents house? The place that contains most of the evidence of your secret identity? That houses so many alien artifacts? Are you INSANE?"

Clark gulped and whispered "It's not that bad. I moved the old ship to the Fortress of Solitude, and buried all the other stuff. Unless Jimmy goes digging in the north field, he won't find anything."

Bruce grunted and moved to help with the bags. Clark accepted this, knowing it was as close to a 'good job' as he was likely to get. "Here, Pa, why don't you let me and Bruce get the bags, while you and Alfred bring the truck around?"

The billionaire and the reporter got the bags off the carousel in silence. Clark was already starting to regret the invitation- he was having trouble thinking of what to say NOW! How would they get through the next 27 hours, 32 minutes?

"You brought a lot for such a short stay, Bruce." He said, pretending to strain at lifting the luggage.

Speaking quietly again, Bruce said "Full costume, utility belt, and datalink to the Batcomputer in that bag. Civilian clothing and Alfred's cooking utensils in this bag"

"Cooking utensils?! Bruce, Alfred doesn't think he's going to be cooking, does he? Ma has Views about men in the kitchen"

Bruce grunted, a different grunt this time. This one was what Clark called #4 supressed-amusement. "He said it would only be polite to offer to help out, and he knows several excellent dishes that require specialized tools. I for one recommend his crème brulee. "

As the truck pulled up outside the small airport, they stacked the luggage in the bed. Alfred took the passenger's seat, at Clark's insistence, while Bruce and Clark piled into the back seat. After a while, Jonathan felt compelled to break the silence.

"So, Bruce. Clark's told us you're wealthy. Tell me, what is it your parents do, exactly?"

Immediately Bruce's jaw clenched, and Alfred went pale. Clark mentally slapped himself.

'I knew there was something I forgot to tell them'


	3. Chapter 3

There were a number of unwritten within the Justice League. Don't show J'onn any Marvin the Martian cartoons. Do not use kryptonite in any practical jokes. Do not email Wonder Woman porn (lesbian or heterosexual). Do not make fish jokes around Aquaman- he's heard them all. Do not use the teleporter to pick up food. Don't feed false conspiracies to the Question. Don't give the Flash Pixie Stix. Don't use Green Lantern's lantern as a reading light. Most of these were simply common sense, and were shared with new members soon after they joined. Like with moth non-critical rules, a certain amount of violations were tolerated, so long as no one was hurt. And it was funny.

But there was one rule that was only known to a small group of people- a very small group. Whenever someone- be it by their own cunning or through a direct revelation- learned the Batman's secret identity, they were taken aside and told of this one, inviolate, sacred rule. The Eleventh Commandment.

Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES make any reference- no matter how well intentioned, no matter how tasteful, no matter how insignificant- to Thomas or Martha Wayne. The League had learned the hard way that this was a taboo subject- a painful wound that had never healed. That Batman reacted negatively to any such reference- with coldness and rejection at the best of times, with violence at the worst. "Just don't" the newly enlightened were told "No matter what, just don't. It's better for everyone, trust us"

For this reason, Clark was more than a little unnerved by his father's off-hand question. Batman was on edge at the very best of times, and today was NOT the best of times. Clark expected coldness, and tension, both of which lasting the rest of the holiday. Or perhaps an explosion of anger and pain. Or maybe Bruce wouldn't even stay that long- maybe he'd be so angry he'd pull out, order them to go back to the airport and go back to Gotham. He was ALMOST completely certain that Bruce wouldn't turn violent. ALMOST. Even if he did he was ALMOST positive he could prevent any real damage. ALMOST.

But instead of any of this, Bruce took a deep breath, held it and released it. "My parents" he said in a calm, friendly but definitely final manner "are dead. They died a long time ago, and if you don't mind, I'd really rather not discuss it. It's still pretty painful, you know? How about you Mister Kent? What do you grow on that farm of yours?"

Clark and Alfred both let out small sighs of relief, while the older Kent –"Call me Jonathan"- engaged Bruce in a discussion of modern agriculture. Alfred turned towards the reporter and spoke in a low hiss.

"You didn't TELL them that?"

"What was I supposed to say Alfred?" Clark asked between clenched teeth "Bruce Wayne is coming for dinner oh and by the way his parents were murdered twenty five years ago? Doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. Besides, I honestly didn't think it would come up. It's hardly normal conversation for men our age"

Alfred nodded slightly, and Clark relaxed. Alfred was a lot more forgiving than his employer was, but a good deal worse when angry. Bruce spoke sharply, even yelled- but Alfred's comments and insults could cut straight to the bone. Both men turned their attention back to the conversation between Clark and Jonathan.

"…will eventually cause more harm to the soil than good. It leeches the natural nutrients right out, meaning you need to buy even more later" Bruce was saying "My company is just putting out a new kind of chemical fertilizer, one that helps fix the nitrogen in the soil. It's a little more costly, but a better choice long-term"

Jonathan laughed "Ah, I see why you're out here, Bruce! You're here to peddle your wares!"

Bruce smiled sheepishly, and raised his hands palms-up in an aw-shucks-you-caught-me pose "What can I say, Jonathan. I'm a businessman. I couldn't turn down the opportunity to fly halfway across the country to sell you some fertilizer."

Jonathan laughed harder "Well, you've given me something to think about. Why don't you give me that info, and I'll think it over. In the meantime, let's talk about something else- like sports. The Meteors are playing the Knights tomorrow, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Say, Clark, how badly do you think the Metropolis will lose this year?" Bruce said, looking at the stunned Superman. "Ten- Nothing? Or worse?"

Clark wasn't entirely certain what was going on- the man beside him wasn't Bruce Wayne Billionaire Fop but he wasn't Batman either. He'd never seen anything like this in all the time they'd known each other- Bruce Wayne acting like a real person. He decided to go with it.

"I don't know what team you've been watching this year, Bruce, but the Meteors are going to trample those ballerinas you call football players."

"Care to make it interesting?" The billionaire said, and his eyes gleamed with the same predatory look that Batman reserved for muggers. That made Clark cautious.

"How interesting? I don't exactly have a lot of money to burn, Bruce"

"Oh, not money" Bruce said "When the Knights destroy that cubscout troop your city's fielding, you get to be my shield against Diana. Deal?"

Clark gulped- recently, Wonder Woman had been trying to get Wayne Foundation support for her favorite charities. Most were all right, but some were fairly radical- and included more than a few abortion clinics. Bruce, the child of a doctor and the Dark Knight of Gotham, would not donate money to such clinics- he wouldn't interfere with them, or allow them to be harmed, but he would not support them. To his mind, all life was sacred no matter what, and that was that. What Bruce was asking was for Superman to somehow get Diana to accept this and stop bothering Bruce. A weighty task, and a dangerous one.

On the other hand…Clark loved Metropolis, and was proud of every part of her. Even her teams- and dammit, he was a Meteors Man. Against his own better judgement he nodded "All right, Bruce that's fair. But if I win, you have to do a little song and dance in front of our friends- and I get to pick the song. Or are you not confident in your city?"

Bruce's eyebrows leapt up and his jaw tightened up again. Batman? Singing and dancing in front of the entire Justice League? But what else could he do? He couldn't back down now; that would be letting down Gotham. Implying that her champion had less than total faith in her. Besides, the odds of Metropolis winning were infinitesimal. "Deal"

The pickup truck pulled up to the Kent farmhouse an hour later, and Clark was relieved to see the old place. For one thing, 'Fun Bruce' as he had taken to calling this stranger, was disturbing in ways he couldn't begin to name. For another, Lois was outside- and therefore was not involved in the cooking. He loved Lois dearly, he treasured her, he practically worshipped her- but frankly, her cooking was only slightly preferable to kryptonite.

Getting out of the cab, he walked over to kiss his fiancée hello. "Afternoon, beautiful. How's it been?"

Lois prodded his chest with a finger. "Your mother" she said angrily "is driving me mad. First, she kicked me out of the kitchen- so who HASN'T burned a dish once in their life? Then, she starts talking about grandchildren. Grandchildren, Clark!" Here Lois' expression changed from anger to sadness.

Clark grimaced. The subject of children was a sensitive one with Lois, and had been for some time. It wasn't known whether or not Kryptonian DNA was compatible with Human- STAR labs had worked on the question and so far come up with no answers beyond 'it seems unlikely'. Even if that weren't an issue, Lois was a career woman in a very dangerous field. She often said she didn't want to bring a child into the world, only to leave it behind a little while later. On the other hand, she really liked kids and wanted to be a mother someday. The whole situation left her a little sensitive, and his mother had probably made things worse (without meaning to, of course). Deciding a change of subject was in order, he asked "How's Jimmy doing?"

Lois snorted "Oh, he's Martha's golden boy! He bakes perfectly, he's so obedient, he's so cheerful… it's like being a kid all over again! Oh, hi Bruce! Hi Alfred!" She cried, waving at the newcomers who waved back as they helped unpack the truck. "By the way, Clark, do your parents know about…?" She raised her hands to the sides of her head with one finger extended, clearly pantomiming bat ears.

"No. And Lois, please don't tease about this, okay? I know you and Bruce don't always get along, but he's acting weird enough as it is"

The woman of his dreams gave him a mischievous smirk. "We'll see, Smallville, we'll see."

Clark raised his eyes to the heavens. 'Great.'

A/N

The views on abortion expressed in this story are not my own. Rather, they reflect what I think Batman would feel. Personally, I'm in favor of everyone doing just as they please so long as they don't harm others with it. Please keep politics out of reviews- leave them at your local ballot box, soap box or pub.

I admit it. I stole the football idea from Gladrial10's hilarious story Rivals. Go, read, enjoy. Batman will lose the bet and sing. I think the song will surprise you.

I hate Jimmy Olson. I understand he's an important player the Superman methos, and he's less irritating than he was, but I can't forgive him for the inanity of the 50's and 60's. Giant Turtle Boy my . Expect him to suffer.


	4. Chapter 4

In direct contrast to the chill November winds which blasted the prairie, the Kent's farmhouse was warm and snug. While Jonathan lead Alfred to the guest room, Clark took Bruce to the basement, where a fold-out couch awaited him. It had been decided that despite Alfred's protests, it was only right to give the older man the guest bed- Bruce had been insistent, saying that Alfred was here on vacation, and when that didn't work, he ordered his butler to take the bed on pain of dismissal. Alfred, who knew that his employer would never fire him, nevertheless recognized when a battle wasn't winnable and went upstairs to unpack.

Down in the basement, alone at last, Clark decided to broach the subject he'd been wondering about for hours. "Bruce, what's going on? Are you feeling all right?"

The millionaire paused in front of the old green couch he'd be sleeping on and turned to look at Clark. "Yes, I'm fine. Don't tell me your supersenses can't tell you as much. Why are you really asking?"

"It's just you're not acting like yourself, Bruce. You're talkative, friendly, you're making jokes…I've never seen you like this" Clark said with a trace of nervousness.

Bruce gave his friend a smile which looked amazingly convincing, if you didn't know that Bruce Wayne rarely smiled when not in public "I just want to enjoy myself while I'm here, and make sure everyone else feels comfortable. Is that so wrong?"

"Well… no…but…"

"Then that's settled. Now, I think we should go upstairs and meet your mother, don't you?"

Martha Kent wasn't sure how things had reached this point. First, that nice Mister Pennyworth had come into the kitchen to introduce himself and to offer his help. She had been polite but firm in her reply; cooking in the Kent household was Woman's Business, and not something any male should involve themselves in. The Englishman- "Call me Alfred, Mrs. Kent, please"- had been equally polite, but had lingered in the doorway. Somehow, the argument had turned into a discussion of recipes, and the next thing she knew, he was busy preparing a stew to be served with dinner.

Currently, Alfred was inspecting her knives. He turned to her with a warm smile on his face "Absolutely perfect, Mrs. Kent. Keen, clean and strong- just what I need to dice the beef."

"Alfred, really, this isn't necessary. We have dinner well in hand, and anyway, aren't you on vacation?" Martha protested, but not too strongly. The truth was, his stew smelled extremely good, and he moved around the kitchen with the air of a professional. She felt like she was a craftsman watching a genuine master at work in her shop- honored and excited but just a little nervous.

"Madam, I have found that I relax best when I cook. In truth, Master Bruce wouldn't notice if I ordered dinner in, but I cook anyway because it is a joy for me. And it's a great pleasure to work with someone as pleasant and gifted as yourself. You are sure that you never received professional training?"

Martha laughed softly "No, just what my mother taught me, and what I picked up on my own."

Alfred began to dice the meat, his hands moving quickly but surely "In that case, madam, I humbly ask that you share some of your recipes with me before I go. I took the liberty of sampling your herb stuffing and IO must say, it is marvelous."

"Gee, Mrs. Kent's stuffing is terrific" a red-head boy said, as he walked in from the living room "Golly, everything about this place is terrific."

"Indeed" Alfred said, and if he found the young man's language to odd he gave no sign of it. "And you would be young mister Olson, correct?"

"Jeepers, I'm just Jimmy" the boy said with an odd smile as he extended his hand to the butler "You're Mister Pennyworth, right?"

"Indeed, sir. But if you are James- I will not call anyone Jimmy- then I am Alfred, agreed?" Alfred said as he shook Jimmy's hand. The Englishman decided that, despite the boy's strangely outdated slang, he liked Jimmy. Something about the lad reminded him of a young Dick Grayson. "Mrs. Kent has told me that you assisted in preparing the stuffing. As we are both agreed that it is excellent, I feel you can be trusted with chopping vegetables for my stew. Master Bruce, I believe we have an Understanding regarding kitchens, do we not? You are to stay well away from all food preparation areas- we do not need a repetition of the Fruit Cake Incident, do we?"

Bruce Wayne- considered by some to be the stealthiest man on Earth- winced as he backed out of the doorway. He would never understand how Alfred always knew he was there. "Alfred that was more than twenty years ago!"

"And yet the stains are still present" Alfred said firmly "James, I have a new task for you. In the interests of preserving all of our lives, you will keep Master Bruce away from here. It is a difficult task, and perilous to be sure, but one I feel that you are more than capable of."

Jimmy nodded and went outside, to find Bruce Wayne and Clark talking quietly. "…don't ask again, Clark."

"Oh, come on Bruce." Clark said, in that friendly but firm way he used when asking Perry for a raise "How bad can it be? Fruitcake, come one, what did you do? Forget to put in the sugar?"

"Yeah, mister Wayne" Jimmy said, curious now "What was it?"

Wayne turned to look at him, and for a split second Jimmy could have sworn the billionaire gave him a venomous glare. It vanished immediately, replaced with a friendly but embarassed look.

"Oh, fine. If you MUST know, when I was six years old I decided I would make Alfred a fruitcake for his birthday. I got the batter all right, but I didn't dice the fruit- I just sliced up some apples, oranges and bananas and tossed them into the mix. Naturally, the thing caught fire in the oven- damned near burned down the kitchen."

Clark was smiling, and Jimmy sniggered. Bruce just stared at air before speaking again. "Clark, let's go into town- I feel like I could do with some fresh air"

A/N

next Bruce charms Smallville, and Lois sneaks into the kitchen.


	5. Chapter 5

The town of Smallville originally arose in the middle of the eighteenth century as a market town- a place where the many farmers then coming to the Kansas heartland could sell their produce and buy the few necessities they could not produce themselves. For much of its history, Smallville consisted of a farmer's market, a railway station, a general store, a church and a town hall. As the twentieth century brought new technologies to the farms, and farmers actually got some leisure time, the town expanded to include a movie house, a few restaurants, a saloon, some specialty shops, a newspaper and a bookstore. By the time Bruce Wayne came to visit, the town held more than eight hundred people. But to a man from Gotham City, Clark mused, it probably still looked like a one-horse town.

He was overcome with a wave of embarrassment for Smallville. Why in the world had he brought Bruce Wayne, Gotham City's Favored Son, out to take a tour of Smallville? What could the town possibly offer that Bruce hadn't seen bigger and better? Jimmy, on the other hand, was enchanted by Smallville's rustic charm. He'd almost never been out of Metropolis, Clark knew, and had apparently been under the impression that rural America hadn't changed since the turn of the twentieth century. His eyes seemed to be everywhere at once, taking in the unfamiliar sights of the town. Clark smiled; it was good that Jimmy was seeing something of the world outside Metropolis. Clark loved his city, but it wasn't the be all and end all of the universe. Thus, Clark aimed the tour more at his young friend than at the worldly billionaire. Bruce had survived JLA meetings- he'd made it through the 2 hour lecture on feminism that had followed Wonder Woman's first experience with porn- he'd survive this.

To his surprise, Bruce seemed to like the town- his face was peaceful as he gazed at the small buildings and homes that made up the bulk of Smallville's architecture. He even mixed well with the residents- he was polite, friendly, personable and charming. Clark felt suddenly sure that he'd woken up on Bizarro-world again; he almost expected this new Bruce to start talking about how miserable him was to not be here. He saw Bruce go off on his own, and decided to follow. Jimmy was unlikely to get into any real trouble here, but Bruce was acting strange.

Clark was under few illusions regarding Batman's mental state. The man walked a narrow line between rationality and total madness. He dealt with the blackest and most nightmarish aspects of humanity every single night. He was beginning to wonder if, just maybe, Batman had finally snapped- had given in to the pain that formed the core of his nature. If so, he could be dangerous- a brilliant mind coupled with a highly trained body and a vast fortune. 'Another Lex Luthor' the journalist decided 'is something I don't need'

To his surprise, Bruce ambled into Henry McNorton's General Store. The General Store was the Smallville equivalent of a convenience store- it stocked basic groceries and assorted odds and ends. It also served as a meeting place for the local men, along with the saloon and the Steak house. Clark wondered what on Earth Bruce was doing going in there.

"…So I picked myself up, dusted myself off and said 'Mademoiselle, I can't DO that five more times!" Bruce said. Instantly, the assembled crowd of Smallvillians burst into that peculiar sort of raucous laughter that comes from a good dirty story. Bruce had entered the store and struck up a conversation with Henry McNorton; not a hard thing to do in the middle of a weekday when trade was slow. Soon, though the store had been filled with men, all craning to hear Bruce Wayne's tales of the Playboy lifestyle.

Clark, meanwhile, stood at the edge of the circle, astounded. Batman was famous for never saying two words when one would do, and for not saying one when he could just grunt. In his experience, Bruce looked at his playboy lifestyle the way other men looked at a trip to the dentist- a necessary thing, but hardly something to be enjoyed. Now though, he held the locals mesmerized with stories of late-night rendezvous and high society hedonism. His listeners, mostly middle-class townsfolk or visiting farmers, had never even IMAGINED things like these; they were entranced by stories of the Mile High Club, candlelight dinners in the nude and so on.

After a while, though, Clark's superhuman hearing picked up the sounds of trouble. He reached forward and tapped Bruce on the shoulder. "I think we need to go, Bruce."

There were sounds of protest from the crowd, and several pleas for Bruce to stay, but the billionaire detached himself from his audience and followed Clark outside.

"I ain't asking you again Cityboy" the large, blonde youth said, shaking Jimmy by the collar "What the hell were you doing with my sister?!"

"Jeepers" Jimmy said, as best he could since he was being shaken violently "We were only talking. Don't get heated up over it"

"HEATED UP?! You calling me a queer?!"

"Golly gee" Jimmy said, wondering why the fellow was getting so worked up about being told to calm down. Things likely would have gotten much worse if Clark hadn't tapped the bigger (and more prejudiced) boy on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, it's Clay Granvy right? Clay, would you mind letting my friend go?" Clark was polite but firm and let just a trace of what he thought of as Supermanity shine through. It was a mix of friendliness and quiet authority, and it often made people listen to him when they otherwise might not.

"Oh, howdy mister Kent" Clay dropped Jimmy to the ground, where the redheaded boy landed in a heap "I didn't know he was your friend. You might want to tell him to watch his mouth, though."

"I will, Clay. Happy Thanksgiving, and give my best to your Ma"

"I will, mister Kent."

Clark helped Jimmy to his feet, and wondered again why the young go-fer was such a magnet for trouble. Behind him, Bruce looked on with an unreadable expression on his face. Suddenly, Clark had had enough of Smallville for now- or more specifically, he'd had enough of Friendly Bruce in Smallville.

"Come on, guys" Clark said "Let's head on back to the farm"

* * *

Dinner at the Kent household was, as usual, delicious. It was still twenty-four hours until the main Thanksgiving feast, but Martha and Alfred had nevertheless worked hard on tonights meal. Alfred's stew was the first course, followed by mashed potatoes, meatloaf, and corn on the cob. For dessert, they had a helping of Martha Kent's apple pie. Clark finished off three pieces, causing Lois to make a sotto voce comment about letting out his Super tights.

"Wow" Bruce said, as he put a hand on his stomach "That was terrific. Martha, if you ever need a job, I think we could find a place for you at Wayne Manor. Wouldn't you agree, Alfred?"

"Indeed, sir" the butler said, as he wiped a spot of gravy off his green sweater-vest. "I have already informed Martha that, should she ever decide on divorce, I would be more than willing to marry her."

Everyone had a good laugh at that, especially Jonathan who made a mock-threatening gesture at the Englishman. Finally, Clark stood up from the table- he'd put this off long enough.

"Ma, PA will you excuse me and Bruce for a bit? We have something we need to discuss privately. Bruce, would you join me outside?"

"Of course, Clark. You can show me those crops you planted in the North Field"

A few moments later, the two men were walking north from the farmhouse. Despite the darkness, Clark's alien vision could see almost perfectly- he couldn't see in the dark, but his nightvision was far better than human. What he noticed was the way Bruce's open, friendly mien shifted abruptly into the cold, inexpressive face of Batman.

"What do you want to talk about?" said Bruce. Only it wasn't Bruce talking anymore, it was Batman- even without the cowl it was impossible to mistake Batman's cold, gravelly and to-the-point tone

"What do-? YOU!" Clark said, waving his hands "Did I do something wrong? Are you angry at me?"

Batman's eyebrow went up "Not especially. Why?"

"Because" Clark said with obvious bewilderment "You're warm and friendly with everyone EXCEPT me! Seriously, everyone else got to meet a charming, intelligent, and worldly man named Bruce Wayne- who I've never even seen before!"

"Oh. That." Batman exhaled deeply "It's an act."

"It's an act? Why?" Clark was more puzzled than ever. He couldn't imagine anyone putting on an act around friends, let alone an act that convincing.

Batman shrugged "Alfred told me to be charming and pleasant and to avoid the Fop. So that's what I'm doing. I thought you knew, Clark. I mean, how long have you known me?"

"I thought that, well, maybe this was just you coming out of your shell" Clark said feebly, fully aware of how ridiculous it sounded. If Batman hadn't come out of his shell in all the times they'd worked together- after all the times they'd saved one another's lives- then why would he do so to people he'd just met?

To his credit, Batman didn't point out how absurd it was. Instead he surprised his friend by sitting down on the ground and motioning for Clark to join him. When the two were seated, Bruce started to speak again. "Clark, THIS is who I really am. I'm serious, unfriendly, and focused- though contrary to popular belief, I do have a sense of humor. You're one of four people in the world I trust enough to show my real self. This new Bruce I'm using here; he's friendly, smart, and charming- but he's just a mask, no different from the Fop. Do you understand, Clark?"

"I think so. And I'm sorry I doubted you, as well as being flattered that you trust me." Clark shifted uncomfortably then said "Listen, Bruce…when we started working together, I was mostly interested in keeping an eye on you. You… well, let's just say I had my concerns about your mental balance. You carry a lot of pain, and I was worried what might happen if some night it got the better of you."

Batman snorted "I kept in touch mainly to watch you back. When we first met, I didn't know how strong those boy-scout morals of yours were. I only saw an incredibly powerful man who could take it into his head to conquer the world at any time. But" here Bruce's voice lowered slightly "Over time, and don't ask me how…I started to think of you as a friend. I don't have many of those, and I thought you should know. Now," abruptly, the Dark Knight stood up "before we head back, I want to check on those artifacts you buried."

An hour or so later, the two men reentered the farmhouse. Jonathan and Lois were playing checkers at the dinner table, while Martha knitted something in the corner. Jimmy and Alfred were most likely asleep upstairs. They all looked up as the front door slammed open. "Wow, you guys sure took your time" Lois quipped "Bruce, I assume you brought my fiancée back with his purity intact?"

"Yeah, don't worry" Bruce said, his voice cheery and friendly again "We just had a lot to talk about"

"Who's up for bridge?" Clark said "Bruce was just saying how much he felt like some cards". He glanced at Bruce with eyes filled with mischief. He'd been through hell all day because of Batman's damn mask, and now it was payback time. Sure enough, the friendly façade cracked for a moment, and Batman's eyes promised vengeance- but then it passed and Bruce nodded.

"Well, I've never said no to a game yet" Martha said, putting aside her knitting "Lois dear, pass the cards will you?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Bruce get up! We have chores to do, remember!" Clark called from the stairs.

In his lumpy, foldaway bed, Bruce Wayne groaned. He'd avenge himself on Clark for this. Not only had the reporter dragooned him into playing bridge (the dullest game on earth- made duller by the poor abilities of all the other players) from seven until almost midnight, but he'd also volunteered them both to help Jonathan Kent with the morning chores. Naturally, the new friendly Bruce couldn't disagree, so now here he was getting up at about the same time he would normally be going to bed. His body clock was screaming it wasn't time to get up, and his body itself ached for sleep, but Bruce ignored them both and went to his suitcase to get dressed.

Ten minutes later, Bruce found himself in the barn, shoveling out the cow pen. While the Kent's farm was primarily based on grain, they kept a few cows for milk- and even in winter, cows couldn't be left in their own filth. Most millionaires would have balked at shoveling cow shit, but the truth was the work didn't bother Bruce at all. Many times during his training trip, manual labor had been part of the curriculum. His teachers saw it as an excellent way to build strength as well as discipline, and as a fine way to weed out the dilettantes among their students. In a way, this was actually rather pleasant- Bruce found his mind drifting back to his time at a small judo school in Brazil- the master had insisted his students limber up by tending the farm… Soon, Bruce was lost in memories, working on autopilot as he relived the best days of his life.

After a while, the floor was clean again. By now it was half past six, and Bruce could detect the smell of breakfast wafting from the farmhouse. He was hungry, but first he needed to get something to discourage any more 'fun' ideas from Clark. Thankfully, he'd thought to pack it when he came. It was a simple matter for the Batman to sneak through the farmhouse and down into the basement where his things were. A moment of rummaging through the suitcase produced a small gray box, much heavier than it looked. Lead always was. He opened it up to check that the item hadn't been damaged in transit. A brilliant green glow emerged from the box, and Bruce smiled- the same smile he used when he had a criminal cornered in a dark alley. A smile that spoke of victory and malice.

At the table, the Kents and their guests sat down to a farmers breakfast of eggs, ham, fruit, toast, coffee and juice- a meal designed to let a person work hard all through the morning. Everyone had been working- Lois and Jimmy had fed the other animals, Clark and Jonathan had begun to overhaul the tractor, and even Alfred had spent the morning in the vegetable garden. He'd insisted on doing that; "It puts me in mind of my youth, when they sent us out to the country during the Blitz" he'd said. During the winter, there was much less work on the farm than normal- and between the seven of them, they managed to make splendid headway. Jonathan proudly announced that at this rate, all the day's chores would be completed by noon. Now, they ate in relative silence, until Clark spoke up.

"You know, Bruce" the alien man said, a twinkle of mischief in his eye "I think we should spend the afternoon at the Heartland Crafts Museum in Smallville. You really don't know much about the rich culture of the Midwest, and I think Mrs Midfields collection of corncob pipes and hand-woven rugs would be just the thing. Don't you?"

Unseen by all, Bruce reached into his pocked, and opened the box. Immediately, Clark felt an icy pain shooting through his body- it started just below his stomach, but soon spread to the rest of him. He felt incredibly nauseous, and doubled over from the agony. Through the pain, he managed to focus his X-Ray vision in a search for the source. He saw nothing, until he focused on Bruce- who had the kryptonite ring in his pocket, and when he saw Clark looking at him, he snapped the box shut. Instantly, the pain vanished and although Clark still felt nauseous, he was able to straighten himself up.

"No, Clark" Bruce said, for all the world oblivious to the results of his actions "I think I'd prefer to stay here and read the newspaper, if that's all right with you. How about you, Alfred?"

"As tempting as Mrs Midfield's collection is, I for one should like to tour the town myself." Alfred said, sipping his coffee. An astute observer, the butler knew that something had happened tothe young reporter, and that his employer was the most likely culprit. However, he didn't see a need to comment, since whatever it was appeared to have stopped. Instead, he swallowed his beverage and continued "Young James has courteously agreed to escort me, and Mister and Mrs Kent shall accompany us"

"Well honey" Lois said with a smirk "I guess its just the two of us, eh? Oh, and don't even think about that museum- we are going for a walk." Clark wanted to protest- it was cold and wet outside and while that was no trouble for him, her human body wasn't as hardy. But her tone was firm and final and brooked no ifs ands or buts. What could he say?

"Yes, dear"

After breakfast, it was right back to work. Bruce decided to help the Kent men out with the tractor. Along the way, Clark pulled Bruce aside.

"Kryptonite? You really felt that Kryptonite was called for?" His voice betrayed his anger. Kryptonite was his one major weakness and the ring he'd given to Batman had been for emergencies only.

Batman glared back at him. "Corncob pipes?" he said, before continuing to where Jonathan was roundly cursing the recalcitrant motor.

Clark tried to hold on to his sense of moral outrage, but failed. At heart, the Man of Steel was an honest and fair person- what he'd been doing to Batman was petty and mean. All right, yes, the creepy Friendly Bruce routine had deserved retribution but last nights bridge game had been enough. Batman had felt a need to put a stop to it, and even if Kryptonite was excessive, Clark honestly couldn't fault him.

As they worked, Bruce carefully watched the interplay between father and son. They seemed so easy with one another, more like friends than a parent and child. They laughed and joked, and shared the work easily. Bruce found himself going over his memories of his father- admittedly Thomas Wayne hadn't been a manual labor sort of man, and Bruce had been too young to really take part in such activities anyway. Still, there were similar events…when his father and he had built a tremendous (well, three feet high) tower out of blocks, then kicked it to pieces while laughing. Sitting on his father's lap, reading a story together, Bruce tapping the page when he didn't understand something. Walking through the forest near the manor, his father slowing his stride to match Bruce. Building the Visible Man, his father beaming with pride as Bruce correctly placed the spleen…

Clark looked up from his work to see Bruce staring silently into space. Tears shone on the billionaires cheeks, and his face was wistful. Clark might not be the World's Greatest Detective but given the setting and Bruce's history, it wasn't hard to guess what he was thinking about. He saw his father move to nudge Bruce back to reality and put a hand on the older mans shoulder.

"Don't, Pa" Clark said in a low voice "Just let him be for now. Come on, help me grease these parts."

A/N

Next Chapter: Dinner, the game, leaving and a Song And Dance Spectacular!

Yes, I compared exposure to Kryptonite to the pain of a kick in the crotch. Any man who's suffered this will understand why I did. For me, it happened while the kicker was in ARMY BOOTS.

One of these days, I'm going to write a story about Thomas and Martha Wayne. I don't think we know anything about who they really were, and that's a damn shame.

There is a video called Angry Video Game Nerd reviews Batman, part 2. It contains an excellent portrayal of how too many fanfics show the Joker. Consider it an example of what NOT to do.


	7. Chapter 7

The afternoon proved to be better than Clark had hoped; sunny, crisp and dry with just a hint of breeze blowing across the plains and stirring the leaves beneath their feet. He and Lois walked quietly through the small wood that abutted the Kent Farm, simply enjoying one another's company. As they walked, they held hands- something they rarely did. Lois felt uncomfortable with any public displays of affection, which suited the son of midwestern farmers just fine. He knew she loved him, and she knew he loved her, and that was enough.

Eventually, they came to the pond that lay at the heart of the woods. Lois was captivated by the picturesque beauty of the scene- the red and yellow leaves turned the trees into a riot of color, while the sun glinting of the water turned the lake bright silver. "Oh Clark" she said, in a small voice "It's beautiful. We should have brought the others- it seems wrong to keep this to ourselves."

In response, Clark snaked an arm around her shoulders and whirled her around to face him. "Maybe, but there are some things I prefer to keep…private". His voice was low and husky, the tone that he always used when he was in a certain mood. She liked his 'Superman' voice- the commanding, authoritative tone he used when he was saving the day- but it was Clark Kent's 'private voice' that made her squirm.

"Why Mister Kent" she said, lacing her arms around the back of his neck "I think you're trying to seduce me"

Clark chuckled while he kissed a line up her throat "What was your first hint, Miss Ace Reporter?"

Back at the farmhouse, Bruce sat with the Kansas City Star on his lap, and quiet jazz playing on the radio. For another man, it would have been an idyllic way to relax; for the Dark Knight it was slow torture. In the absence of distractions, Batman found his mind revolving around the city he'd left behind yesterday. How many crimes had been committed? Were the Rogues still securely locked away in Arkham? Had there been an escape? Had Commissioner Gordon stood on the roof of Gotham Central, waiting in vain for the Dark Knight to arrive? The longer he spent here in Kansas, the more Batman felt like a deserter- as though he were a soldier who'd left his post for a cigarette and allowed the enemy to creep in. Logically, he knew that he was worrying over nothing- he would be away less than forty-eight hours. He'd taken breaks longer than that, when he needed to recuperate or to make sure Bruce Wayne kept up his playboy reputation.

But this was different. He hadn't been injured, nor was this outing doing anything to enhance his playboy image. In fact, his little talk at the Smallville General Store could conceivably damage that image- rather than a billionaire dilettante, he'd come across as an intelligent and worldly man. Batman NEEDED Bruce Wayne to seem stupid, hedonistic, self-centered and easily bored- because anyone investigating the Batman's secret identity would discount such a man immediately. This outing to Kansas had accomplished nothing.

And yet… he was enjoying himself. No one, not even Batman, could keep pushing themselves as hard as he did, all night every night, without pause. Certainly, he rested his body well, but this was the first time he'd given his mind and spirit a rest in decades. He could be lying in bed, or sipping champagne on his yacht, but his mind would constantly be working, and his guard was always up. IT felt…good to relax his guard, and take his mind off crime for a little while.

Of course, he'd never tell Clark or Alfred. They'd never let him hear the end of it. Instead, he simply enjoyed the peace and solitude of the farmhouse until the others returned for dinner.

Clark and Lois returned to the farmhouse at about three o'clock in the afternoon. Although they weren't visibly disheveled, the World's Greatest Detective could guess what had happened. Lois was smiling too much, and Clark was walking differently, all of which told him exactly what they'd been doing. Thankfully, they had settled down to normal by the time the others arrived. The moment everyone was together, Clark glanced at his watch.

"Almost time for the game" he said "Bruce, I'll give you one last chance to surrender gracefully and back out of our wager"

"Wager?" Lois said "Clark, how many times have I told you not to bet against billionaires?"

Quickly, Clark went over the terms of the bet: If the Meteors won, Bruce would have to sing and dance in front of 'all their friends'. If the Knights won, Clark would have to get Diana to stop bothering Bruce for her charities. Lois whistled lowly "Wow, Smallville, I always knew you were brave but this is a whole new level. You realize that the Knights are heavy favorites for this match?"

Clark looked abashed but said "I know, Lois, but I couldn't let him defame our team"

Lois sighed and put her arm on his shoulder "You did the right thing, and I'll help you talk to Diana if you want. But!" She pointed a finger at her fiancée "If we do win, I want a video of the Dark Knight singing."

As the game started, the group sat down around the old television set. Bruce occupied the main armchair, while Lois, Clark and Jimmy took the couch. Jonathan and Martha were uninterested in Gotham or Metropolis, while Alfred considered American Football an abomination. Jimmy had a bag of chips, while Lois and Clark each had beer. Bruce sat silently and watched the proceedings.

The Metropolis Meteors stunned everyone that night. While they had been fairly good all season, that game seemed to bring out the best in the team. By half-time, the score was fourteen all, and Bruce was beginning to grow concerned. The next quarter and a half was tight, with both teams giving it their all and stalemating. Then it happened. The Gotham Quarterback inexplicably launched a long bomb pass, which was easily intercepted. The Meteor player, dodging and swerving the entire way, managed to make one of the longest touchdowns in football history. The Knights never really recovered from that- that single blunder seemed to cut the heart out of the team. They played lackadaisically, as though they'd already lost. When the final whistle blew, the score was 28-14 for Metropolis, and the Kent's living room went crazy. Clark leapt off the sofa and actually hung in the air for a second before remembering Jimmy's presence and descending to ground level. He needn't have worried- Jimmy was dancing a jitterbug (an honest to god jitterbug) around the room. He turned to see his fiancée's reaction, and was met with a deep long kiss. Meanwhile Bruce sat in his armchair, his fingers digging into the armrest, fighting to keep his anger from his face. After things had calmed down, he turned to Clark.

"What's the song?" He growled.

Clark leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Although his expression didn't change, apart from his eyes growing even harder, the billionaire recoiled. "You aren't serious" he said.

Clark nodded with a big grin on his face. "A bet is a bet"

What can be said of Thanksgiving dinner that hasn't already been said? There was food, perhaps too much. Roast turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, bread, cranberry sauce, roasted potatoes, corn on the cob… the guests ate their fill and then some. There was talk, some of it boisterous and spirited but thankfully none that was mean spirited or argumentative. There were jokes and stories and songs. It was, in short, a true feast.

Afterwards, everyone helped clean up the table. Martha had initially tried to insist that the others let her do it- but Alfred wouldn't hear of not helping, and with one glance he had Bruce offering to help out. After that, everyone piled into the kitchen to help clean up- if Bruce had to clean, everyone had to clean. With seven people working, the clean-up was quick. Soon, the guests from Gotham went to pack their bags to go. Jonathan had opted to drive them to the airport alone, since Clark and Lois wanted to celebrate their win alone.

Before they left though, Clark made a point of coming up to Bruce and saying "You're on in three days. I'll tell the others"

* * *

The core members of the Justice League assembled in the main meeting room, puzzled as to the nature of this mysterious meeting. Wonder Woman, Flash, Plastic Man, Green Lantern, J'onn J'onnz and Aquaman had all received calls telling them to be at the Watchtower at three o'clock today for an important announcement. Superman had been clear that this was to be super secret, kept even from the rank and file members of the League. They entered the meeting room, to find that Batman and Superman were already waiting for them. Superman was seated in his usual spot, while Batman stood at the far end of the room, in the spot normally reserved for presentations.

"If every one will just be seated" The Man of Steel said "We can begin. Now, before we get started, I need to apologize. This isn't really League business per se, but Batman felt that everyone should hear this. Batman?"

The Dark Knight glared at the closest thing he had to a friend within the Justice League, then cleared his throat. He put one hand on his hip, elbow facing out. Then, he extended his other arm, while bending the forearm ninety-degrees, with his palm facing the floor. Then, he began to sing.

_"I'm a little teapot, Short and Stout_

_This is my handle, this is my spout_

_When I get all steamed up here me shout"_

He bent sideways slightly

"_Tip me over and pour me out"_

Without another word, Batman moved to his normal seat, and glared at the assembled heroes.

For a long moment the room was completely silent as the members of the world's premiere heroic group digested what they had just seen. For a moment, Batman thought that the fear of him would be enough to save his dignity, but then Diana smirked. J'onn sniggered. After that, the entire room burst into laughter. Plastic Man actually lost control of his body, melting into a large flesh colored puddle which kept on laughing. Aquaman had his head in his hands, his frame shaking with the force of his mirth. Flash and Wonder Woman were leaning against one another to keep from falling over, as tears poured from their eyes. Perhaps the most bizarre sight of all was the Martian Manhunter, who rolled on the floor laughing. Batman glowered at the assembled heroes of the world, glared daggers at Superman, then left the room.

* * *

Lois did indeed get her video, and enjoyed it immensely. So much so, in fact, that she sent it to Selina Kyle- "something you can hold over his head" was how she phrased the email. People being people, and the internet being what it is, the video of 'TeaMan' was soon everywhere. What finally happened was, therefore, probably inevitable.  
In Arkham Asylum's computer lounge, the most dangerous inmate of all idly checked the popular video site, It was usually a good place to find some laughs- he could usually find a few videos of allegedly normal people humiliating themselves or others for the amusement of total strangers. Today, however, there was a new video on the Most Popular List- just a few thousand hits below the StarWars Kid.

"Batman Sings?" The Joker said to himself "What the…?"

End

A/N

I leave you to finish that yourselves.

I really enjoyed writing this story, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it


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